


wish he was my boyfriend

by TheMostPsychotic (ymirjotunn)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymirjotunn/pseuds/TheMostPsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The skinny kid is sitting at the table over there again. He’s laughing at the guy who’s sitting with him. They’re there almost every Friday night. At first you thought they both looked like total douchebags. And actually, you still think they look like douchebags, it’s just that one of them is an incredibly hot douchebag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wish he was my boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MalcolmTucker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalcolmTucker/gifts).



> written in a collection of homestuck fics for jordan's holidays gift. i liked it the most. so here it is!
> 
> inspired by "boyfriend" by best coast. go listen immediately.
> 
> oops i tried posting this and it didn't so reposting and seeing if it works??? idk

“Hey.”  
  
The skinny kid is sitting at the table over there again. He’s laughing at the guy who’s sitting with him. They’re there almost every Friday night. At first you thought they both looked like total douchebags. And actually, you still think they look like douchebags, it’s just that one of them is an incredibly hot douchebag.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
He’s skinny as fuck with cheekbones that you can’t even describe, and messy brown-red hair that he probably never even brushes, and these dumb red and blue glasses like the kind you get at 3D movies, but maybe more ironic. Tonight he’s wearing a mustard-yellow tee with some of the thinnest fabric you’ve ever beheld on a guy, and you think, fuck, that’s daring, yellow with that skin tone, but he pulls it off. Way better than you ever could, you think, admiring/envious.  
  
“Hell-ooo!”  
  
He’s wearing skinny jeans, too. He always wears skinny jeans. One of the many reasons you’re sure he plays for your team. That and the shirt he’s wearing now is a V-neck, like most of the others he’s worn.  
  
“Anyone home?”  
  
The guy sitting with him looks pretty faggy, too. He’s wearing a red-and-white skintight shirt and skinny jeans with this ridiculously pretentious white scarf and shades. It’s fucking dark in this bar, there’s only a couple of overhead lights, how can he even fucking see?  
  
“Hello!”  
  
You were instantly jealous of shades the second he sat down next to sexy skin-and-bones over there. Whether or not they’re a thing, shades still gets to hang out with sexy and you don’t, so there. You now have a legitimate reason to want to shoot shades.  
  
“ _Eridan_!”  
  
You look up from your Coors Light, kind of jumping a little. Fef is impatiently tapping her fingers on the table. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past ten minutes,” she whines. “You’re the one who asked me to come, right? So why aren’t you talking to me?”  
  
“Sorry,” you say. “I was distracted.”  
  
She rolls her eyes and takes a dainty sip of her San Pellegrino. “Distracted? Eridan, you come here every Friday alone. For you to be here with someone, date or not, that’s, like, monumentous.”  
  
“Monumen _tal_ ,” you correct her absentmindedly. You’d correct her and say that you were here every night, but she’d probably laugh at you. Scratch that. She would definitely laugh at you.  
  
“Whatever,” she coos, flipping out her phone. “So, you going to make this interesting or what?” Fef’s kind of a bitch, but she’s the only girl you know who cares enough to hang out with you. So bitch or not, you don’t mind her company.  
  
“Interesting?”  
  
“Make it worth my time,” she says.  
  
“Worth your time. Fuck, Fef, I thought you liked my company.”  
  
“And _I_ thought you had better taste in bars than this dump.”  
  
It is kind of dumpy, you’ll admit. The cushions on the barstools are ripped up and the tables are kind of sticky with the residue of spilled beers. But the bartender has at least double Ds and you thought Fef might appreciate that, at least a little.  
  
She sighs, glances over at the bar, where the bartender is perched on the countertop. Spot on, Eridan. “Are you seriously not going to be entertaining?”  
  
You spread your arms. “I’m always entertainin’.”  
  
She rolls her eyes again. “I’m going over to talk to that bartender. She looks sweet.”  
  
“She is,” you’re quick to say. “Her name’s Jade.” Sometimes, on really lonely nights, you talk to her. She probably feels bad for you.  
  
She glances down again, and you’re hoping it’s at you because some company would be nice, but it’s not, it’s at her purse. She pulls out her lip gloss and does a retouch and flicks her fingers at you in a little wave. “Thanks, Eridan, I’ll see you in a bit.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure she’s lesbian,” you offer helpfully.  
  
“Oh,” she says, tapping her chin with a fuchsia nail. “Well, maybe I _won’t_ see you in a bit! Ta!”  
  
Your only company for the night is skipping off towards the big-chested bartender and you are left alone with your beer and your scarf. It’s cashmere and stripy purple and pretty much your best friend. You rub the soft ends in between your fingers and wish that the sexy kid over there knew your name.  
  
You spend another night doing the same thing you do every night: finishing off two, or maybe three beers. You’ve never been great at alcohol and once, you had six, and you passed out outside a Chick Fil A before you could hail a cab. So you never go past three.  
  
Fef runs back to your table to grab her purse, which for whatever reason she forgot to bring, singsonging something about going to eat out tonight, which is either a lesbian thing or she’s taking Jade to Applebee’s, you’re too drunk to tell.  
  
Before she dashes off, though, she takes one look at your face and says, “You all right?”  
  
One thing about Fef: she’s a bitch all right, but she’s always known you better than anyone else.  
  
“Nah,” you say into your mostly empty third beer.  
  
“Giving Sollux the eye,” she says, sympathetically.  
  
“Who’s Sollux?”  
  
“Skinny kid, over there,” she says, pointing. “You’ve been staring at him all night. Am I wrong?”  
  
“Oh,” you say, looking up, “yeah. That’s his name? Do you know him?”  
  
“Sure,” she says, slipping into your booth. “Sollux Captor. We dated for a couple months last year. He’s a sweetie, but he’s _totally_ gay. It was a front kind of thing for both of us, while I settled into my new apartment. He had just gotten into the college over here for his sophomore year. Tried to seem a little, you know, normal for a while?”  
  
“Is he with shades?”  
  
“You mean Dave? Nope. Dave’s one of those guys who goes around with all kinds, if you know what I’m saying.” She pauses. “But no worries. They’re only roommates. I’m pretty sure Dave is going out with Sollux’s best friend.”  
  
“They’re not together.”  
  
“Just roomies, Eridan.” She glances back at Jade, who’s spinning around on a barstool chair. It’s making an awful screeching sound. You wonder offhandedly who’s taking her place. Kan, maybe. “Look, I’d better go, Jade’s getting awfully impatient.”  
  
“Sure, sure,” you say, waving a hand. “Have fun.”  
  
“Of course!” She’s about to get up, but bites her lip and stays in place. “Uh, Eridan? If you like him so much, go over and talk to him.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
“Yes! Eridan, you _can_ be attractive if you’re not too much of a desperado. Just go on over and introduce yourself.” She retouches her lip gloss again. It’s almost a compulsive thing.  
  
“You’re insane.”  
  
“I’m not _insane_ , I’m just excited to see my Eridan make a couple of new friends! Go on, try it out.”  
  
“Yeah, no way. He’s goin’ ta hate me.”  
  
“That’s _silly_ , Eridan. Go talk to him. I’ve got to go.” She glances back at Jade again. “And good luck!”  
  
Jade links arms with her at the door and they exit. Which leaves you all alone, nursing a half-centimetre of Coors Light at a booth all by yourself.  
  
Maybe you should do it.  
  
It takes you almost ten minutes, but you finally get up the courage to put one foot on the floor outside of the booth.  
  
Then, another five minutes and both legs are swung over to the outside.  
  
Another five and you’re forcing yourself to get up. You’re abandoning your beer. Not enough left to care. Wait – on second thought, you drain the rest of it. Just in case.  
  
Then you take a couple of steps towards their table, and then stop, and then keep walking, hoping nobody saw you hesitate.  
  
Well, honestly, you three – you and sexy and shades – are the only people still there, so unless they saw it (ohgodyouhopenot) you’re good to go.  
  
“Oh, lookie here,” shades – Dave, you guess, drawls. “Intoducing the new friend, wannabe.”  
  
“Your scarf isn’t so hot either, dicksack,” you retort.  
  
He smirks at you and doesn’t say anything more.  
  
“Well, hey there,” sexy mutters. Well fuck you, even his voice is attractive. “Nice to meet you, too.”  
  
“Sorry,” you say, and fuck if you’ve already screwed this up. “My name is Eridan.”  
  
“Great, we’ve got a name to put to the asshole,” Dave says in the whiniest voice you’ve heard on a guy since last season of RuPaul’s Drag Race. You’re positive it’s on purpose.  
  
“Sollux,” sexy says, points to the douche, “Dave. Fucking awesome. Want to sit down? Get a drink or something, dude.”  
  
“N’thanks,” you say, totally slur-less, you swear. “Had a coupla beers already.”  
  
Dave smirks again. “Coupla? What, like, one?”  
  
“Three,” you say indignantly.  
  
“Dave shut _up_ ,” Sollux hisses. He turns to you again and says pleasantly, “Go ahead, sit down. If you want something to drink you can have some of mine.”  
  
You slip into the chair next to Sollux and say, “W-what is it?” Oh god. Not the stutter. Voice, don’t fail you now, you took years of speech therapy to end this.  
  
“Vodka,” Dave says loudly. His voice echoes through the bar. Sollux kicks him under the table.  
  
“Jeez, sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his knee.  
  
“Let’s start over,” Sollux says, grimacing. “Dave’s not always an asshole. Just most of the time.”  
  
“All day, every day, baby,” Dave hums drunkenly, and it strikes you that he’s probably totally wasted.  
  
Sollux rolls his eyes. “He’s not usually this bad at drinking, I promise. He just decided to have, like, a fucking thousand shots tonight.”  
  
“I had that goddamn LMFAO song stuck in my head,” Dave says, mouth a thin, serious line.  
  
“The one about shots,” you say. You kind of know what he’s talking about, but not really. Indie’s more your cup of tea.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, “I sampled it earlier and it got stuck in my head.”  
  
“Dave’s a music fag,” Sollux says, smirking. “AA loves it, though. Did I tell you she was dancing to your weird Miley Cyrus mix?”  
  
“No waaay,” Dave slurs. “No _waaay_. That is so great. I made it for her. So that’s cool. So cool.” He starts half-humming, half-singing that one Miley Cyrus song. You can’t quite put your finger on the name, but you’re sure you’ve heard it before, somewhere.  
  
“No, it was weird,” Sollux disagrees. “Wouldn’t that be weird, ED? Who even makes dubstep of Miley fucking Cyrus.”  
  
He has a nickname for you? He has a nickname for you. It takes you a second to start breathing again, and another second to remember how to talk, and another second to formulate a reply.  
  
You forget a lot of what you’re saying, mostly on auto-pilot as you watch Sollux talk. You wonder what those long fingers would feel like on your jaw, on your spine, on your thighs. You kind of forget what you’re doing and start drinking out of Sollux’s glass. It’s Limoncello, not vodka, and you don’t really like the taste when you start out, but by the time Dave’s phone starts ringing – for some godawful, indecipherable reason he’s got an alarm set for midnight to start playing a different Disney baby every time, and tonight it’s Demi Lovato, or so he informs you – you’ve kind of forgotten what Limoncello even tastes like or whether or not this is real life.  
  
They adopt you, kind of like a gay couple with an Ethiopian three-year-old, into their group and then they decide that you’re coming home with them and there won’t be any arguments. Probably just as well, or you might pass out in the middle of the street, get run over by a Subaru or something. Your luck is just so fucking great.  
  
Sollux is the most sober of any of you and somehow he manages to get a cab, but you can’t all quite fit. Actually, that’s completely untrue. You’re all three of you skinny enough to count ribs, if you took off your shirts, which Dave actually did when you were still inside the bar and he’s pretty decent-looking, you guess, but the point is that you can’t fit in the backseat or at least you pretend that you can’t fit in the backseat and Sollux grins and demands that you sit on his lap.  
  
“If I have to,” you say, demurely, the picture of innocence.  
  
You don’t wear your seatbelt on the way to their apartment. Seatbelts are really restricting and definitely not fucking okay for lap dances.  
  
Dave kind of shoves you all into the elevator and somehow when he kind of shoves you all out into the hallway you and Sollux are maybe a little attached at the mouth and he has to kick you guys down the hallway and into Sollux’s bedroom. He yells at Sollux to use protection and then holes himself up in his room with his music, leaves you two to do whatever.  
  
“I think I’m drunk,” Sollux breathes, slamming you onto the bed. “Sorry, fuck, I am so wasted.”  
  
“I am way wasted,” you assure him, “I’m so fuckin’ wasted. It’s cool, it’s fine. Let’s fuck.”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, kisses you into the comforter. You make a sound that’s kind of like a squeak, kind of a moan, which is apparently the sign for him to rip all of your fucking clothes off right this very fucking instant. Which he does. You think, blearily, oh, he’s broken the zipper on your jeans permanently. ‘s all right.  
  
He makes a move to go down on you, but you grab his face and keep him up where he should be, kissing you, hoping he’ll take the hint. His long fingers flutter down your torso and wrap around your dick and he kisses you furiously, won’t give you a second to breathe so you have to inhale through your nose.  
  
You feel like a kid again, coming like two minutes into a fuckin’ handjob ( _handjob_ for chrissakes) and Sollux fucking laughs at you. That’s okay, that’s fine, really fucking fine. He won’t stop kissing you, though, and god damn he is a good kisser, especially his tongue, it’s like fire, igniting against the roof of your mouth and spreading down the curved line of your back. You’re half-hard again in a couple of minutes and you wonder if this is some evil master plan to get you off, like, twenty times. If so, you’re willing to offer your full support to that plan.  
  
Those fingers, holy shit, Sol, you say into his mouth, holy shit, can’t I get you off, and he says maybe later, and moves his mouth down to your collarbone, gives you a bruise that’s going to last at least a week. Maybe two. His hands dart over your balls and you come again, wonder how this is even happening. Your head is so fucked up. Holy fuck, you are so drunk. Everyone is so drunk. You really want to sleep but Sollux is still kissing you.  
  
You fall asleep with Sollux still on your chest, both of your thighs sticky and his head nestled in the corner of your chin and shoulders, and you dream about Feferi and Jade having that dinner for two special at Applebee’s and having sex on the table. It’s a really strange dream, but the pattern is the more alcohol you drink the stranger your dreams end up being.  
  
Your eyes open to nothing. Sollux is gone, and you are naked and alone in the bed.  
  
“Sol,” you say, softly, weakly. Your head is pounding and you feel a little sick. “Sol?”  
  
There is no answer.  
  
You lay there for a few more minutes. Did he leave? Is he in the other room, fucking Dave? Was it...was it just because you were drunk?  
  
“ED,” Sol says, stumbling into the room. His shoulders are wet and a towel is slung haphazardly along his waist. God, his ribs are like knives or something. “Sthorry, I had to grab some water.” Is that a hint of a lisp you hear? Does he, like, lose it when he gets drunk? Your head hurts but you kind of want to sweep him up into your arms and take him on a date to, you dunno, a fancy restaurant or something. Part of your head says that that’s a terrible idea and you might pass out and the other part of your head wants to court the shit out of this cutie.  
  
“Can I,” you croak, and he bends down and kisses you. You shut up. His mouth tastes like toothpaste and when he pulls away there’s some water magically at your mouth. You take a long drink.  
  
“Aspirin on the bed table,” he directs you. “Dave’s stockpiling the Ovaltine in his room but I’m sure if we work together we can get some out of there. Have some honey in the cupboard, too.”  
  
“Shower?”  
  
“Go ahead. That door over there.”  
  
You peel yourself out of bed, feeling absolutely disgusting. “Okay.”  
  
You feel kind of weird, using Sollux’s shampoo. It’s Garnier Fructis. So gay, you think, grinning a little, so gay. It does smell good, you’ve got to admit.  
  
You realise, stepping out of the shower, that you don’t have any hair product, and you kind of freak out because your hair is totally floppy and gross-looking, but Sollux brushes past you and gives you a sloppy kiss behind your ear, so you guess it doesn’t look too bad.  
  
Dave is making pancakes in the kitchen when you finally force yourself into the light. It actually doesn’t smell half bad and you stomach a couple. Sollux makes you use honey instead of syrup and it tastes kind of disgusting but it also makes your headache fade a little, so it’s okay.  
  
“Sol,” you say, sipping at your Ovaltine, “what was that?”  
  
He stops shovelling pancake into his mouth and looks at you, wide-eyed. “What was what? What was the sex?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“It was sthex, duh.” There’s that lisp again. Just barely there.  
  
“But what kinda sex?”  
  
“Sex sex, what other kinds of sex are there?” It comes and goes, you decide, and you like it.  
  
“Drunk sex,” you say, counting on your fingers, “pity sex, non-consensual sex, romantic honeymoon sex, wild teenager sex, ass-kissin’ sex, I could keep goin’.”  
  
“Don’t,” Dave advises from the stove.  
  
Sollux gives him a look. “It was just fucking sex, dude, don’t overthink it.”  
  
“But do you like me?” Your voice is kind of whiny.  
  
“I don’t,” Dave says, helpfully.  
  
“Fuck you, Dave.”  
  
“Naw,” he says smoothly, “I’ve already got a girlfriend.” He doesn’t sound hungover at all. Fucker.  
  
Sollux is rolling his eyes. “ED, jethus, why would I do that if I didn’t like you at all?”  
  
“It’s not at all I’m talkin’ about,” you say, sliding your hand across the table. It kind of accidentally falls into his lap and onto his thigh. Totally accidentally. “Do you like me?”  
  
“What are we, third graders? Do you like me, check yes or no,” Dave squawks. You resist the urge to throw a honey-sticky pancake at his shirt. You’d probably miss, anyway.  
  
“Yeah,” Sollux says, taking another bite.  
  
“Do you _like_ , like me?” you press.  
  
“Fuck, ED, what do you want to do, fucking get married?” He takes a drink. You kind of want to say yes.  
  
“He wants to court your skinny ass to the _point_ of marriage,” Dave snaps from the stove. “Not as if you two haven’t been back-and-forth scoping each others’ choice asses for the past three months. Like the gift of the fucking Magi or something.”  
  
“God _damnit_ Strider,” Sollux snaps. “That’s not even a good analogy.”  
  
“Yeah, well, hangovers fuck with my metaphors.”  
  
“You’ve been scoping me out?” you say, which was all you heard.  
  
“You’ve been sthcoping _me_ out?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, who _hasn’t_ been scoping you out, cutie?”  
  
“Did you stherithously just call me cutie?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Sollux flushes. “Yeah, I’ve been scoping you out. You looked kind of lonely, so I started trying to thee if you ever had any friends over, and you never did, so I sthtarted looking at you and thought you were pretty good-looking.”  
  
“Fuck,” you say, “yeah, right.”  
  
“Don’t be so fucking negative,” he tells you. “You are. You’re my little brunette.”  
  
“With the purple streak,” you remind him, running a hand through it.  
  
“Yeah, and those sweet purple-y eyes,” he says, brushing a finger along your cheekbones, “and your hips are basically phenomenal.”  
  
“No, you,” you tease, batting his hands away.  
  
“What did I say about someone fucking proposing,” Dave snaps from the stove. “This is getting painful to listen to.”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Sollux says, flushing again. “ED, wanna go out with me?”  
  
“What the fuck shit?” you say, sinking down in your chair. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Fucking serious, dude,” Sollux says, leaning over. “Yeah. I like you. Wath that not obviouths?”  
  
“Nobody likes me,” you say.  
  
“I like you,” Sollux repeats.  
  
“He’s somebody,” Dave offers. “I guess.”  
  
“Shut _up_ ,” you both say at the same time.  
  
“Are you going to dump me tomorrow?” you ask. “Like, this isn’t a joke, right?”  
  
“Not a joke, promithe,” he lisps, and you grin.  
  
“Okay, okay,” you say, “I can’t resist that fuckin’ lisp.”  
  
He grins back, a little hesitantly. “You can tell?”  
  
“It’s fuckin’ adorable,” you assure him, and your head pounds but you lean over and kiss his cheek again, once, twice, and then the third kiss kind of lands on his mouth, accidentally, and you forget about your honey-drenched pancakes.  
  
You’ve almost got Sollux’s shirt off – it’s not even fashionable, he picked it out in like two seconds this morning, it doesn’t go with his jeans like _at all_ , better take that right the fuck off and resolve that fashion emergency – when Dave kicks you both out of the kitchen so he doesn’t have to “witness this disgusting act of sodomy” and Sollux gives you a blowjob and you sink into the mattress and silently thank Fef because holy shit, holy shit, _holy motherfuckin’ shit_ , you’ve got a boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> fq/tn will be updated on wednesday!


End file.
